


Of Drabbles and Drafts

by Natasha_Rostova



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Fluff, Gen, Mentions of Violence, No Incest, Sickness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Rostova/pseuds/Natasha_Rostova
Summary: A collection of my Silmarillion drabbles and unfinished works.





	1. “I don’t want to lose you too.” + Maglor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond was so impossibly ill.

“You need to wake up.” It was late and the manor was quiet. Hauntingly quiet. For it should be filled with Elrond’s childish giggles as Maglor bid him goodnight. 

It should be filled with bedtime stories and goodnight kisses. And yet. 

The fever was much worse than they had anticipated. How fragile half elves were.

Tucked safely in his bed Elrond lay still. Brown hair slick with sweat and stuck to the sides of his rounded face. 

“You need to,” Maglor rubbed circles into Elrond’s hand, he couldn’t let El be alone, even while he slept. Elrond was just so small. And fragile. Barley old enough to sleep without his candle. Barley old enough to die.

“Do you hear me?” Elrond eyes moved restlessly behind his lids, Maglor wished he could ease his unconscious mind. How restless this sickness had made him. Made Both of them.

“El.” Elrond stopped shifting. Maglor stilled as well. Holding his breath for anything. 

Nothing.

“Please.” Voice as soft as summer nights, Maglor whispers a plea as he brushes Elrond's hair from his face.

“I don’t want to lose you too.” In the light of the twins bedroom, Maglor finds tears dripping down his cheeks. 

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a ship fic don’t even try me


	2. “I can’t promise anything.” + Glorfindel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Goodbye

“You be careful you hear me?” Glorfindel turns, over the shouting and the chaos, he can still hear Ecthelion as if they were standing together. 

“I can’t promise anything!” Despite the fear that was welling in his stomach, Glorfindel puts on a smile and cockily brushes off Ecthelion’s concern. They had already said goodbye, had Ecthelion turned sentimental over night? Even though he is several meters away, Glorfindel can see his eye roll. Or feel it.

“Oh forget I said anything!” Even though his tone is dismissive, Ecthelion has a sad smile painted on his face. As if he feels the same fear as Glorfindel. Although it seems they both wish to ignore it. At least for now. The battle field was no place for fear. Ecthelion signals his men. “I’ll see you later then!” 

“Later.” Glorfindel finds his voice soft. Weaker than he thought. As if somehow in the middle of battle Arda stands still. And lets him say farewell. 

And with a half smirk, Ecthelion turns his horse toward the fighting. 

Later.

The fear could be dealt with later.


	3. “It wasn’t your fault” + Nerdanel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of this was her fault.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Her atar’s voice is soothing. Yet sad. Some deep sense of melancholy has seemed to make home in his chest.

The sound of horses fades as Nerdanel watches her family leave.

Leave her.

Leave her for gems.

Leave her for what?

Lead by the keeper of her heart. Her destruction. Her love. They leave to their doom.

Oh how she burned.

“I know.”

Oh how empty she sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind short but,,


	4. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all at once hes falling.  
> And falling.

Arwen hums as she braids another flower into Glorfindel's hair. It's a mindless song, brought about by her childlike wonder.

"Do you like the color red?" Her question is harmless, but something about it makes his stomach turn. What was wrong with him today?

"I don't mind it at all." Liar. Red banners with golden stars float just behind his eyelids. "All flowers are good flowers." 

"I like red flowers. Atar likes them too!" Atar. Atar. The Quenya translation of Ada. "I shall give you a crown of red flowers!" 

"That sounds wonderful Arwen. Thank you." He forces a smile. He loved Arwen. As if she were his own daughter, he could swallow this uncalled for fear for just a moment. If only to make her happy.

"You're very welco-" And on accident she tugs. Lightly, not even enough to cause harm and yet,

There was smoak. 

And flames. 

And he was falling.

And falling 

And burning. 

Everything was burning. 

His head hurt so bad, why-

“Glorfindel!” A sharp intake of breath and he’s not falling anymore. He's, he's on the floor. Gasping. His chest burning and the room is swimming. When did everything get so-

"Glorfindel, say something!" Erestor. He's got two hands on glorfindel's shoulders. Holding him upright.

"Yes. Yes. I'm. I'm fine." He's still gasping for air. Chest heaving. "I'm fine. I just." He meets Erestors gaze. "I'm fine." 

Liar.

Liar.


	5. "I don't think I've felt this good in an age." + Glorfindel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day in Rivendell, Glorfindel and Elrond unwind
> 
> T/W Drinking

"Sometimes I forget how young you are." 

Elrond was curled up in his armchair, expression soft and smiling. The tension removed from his shoulders. A glass of wine cradled close to his chest. Yet at Glorfindel's remark, a hint of mischief glitters behind his eyes. 

"Yes, well sometimes I forget how ancient you are." 

Glorfindel laughed, light hearted and slightly slurred. The warm evening breeze only adding to the light haze clouding his head. 

After a particularly long day dealing with endless visitors and injured elves, Elrond had revealed a bottle of wine from Vailor, gifted to him by his fathers. The haze of alcohol and nostalgia was just the remedy Glorfindel needed.

"You know. I don't think I've felt this good in an age." Glorfindel interrupts himself with silent giggles. Elrond himself stifles a laugh. 

"Me either."


	6. "I've had, eleventy twelve wines." + Makalaurë

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makalaurë has had...eleventy twelve wines.

"You look like Mandos." 

"Ugh." Makalaurë holds his hands to his head. Everything was so...fuzzy. 

"I didn't think I'd have to look after you too." Maitimo smiles as he kneels next to Makalaurë on the floor. "How much have you had?" Even with the pounding of his head and the buzzing in his ears, Makalaurë can hear the humor in his brothers tone.

"I have had...eleventy twelve wines." 

"Eleventy twelve huh?" Maitimo moves and lays on the floor with Makalaurë. Shoulders aligned. "You never drink, and eleventy twelve sure is a lot. What's going on?"

"Music is…." Makalaurë rubs his face sloppily. "Hard. Thought maybe...maybe… maybe I'd figure it out if my head was all ...different." Maitimo laughs breathlessly.

"Well baby brother. I don't think you'll be able to sort anything out with eleventy twelve wines in your system."

"I've composed three new pieces."


	7. "Floaty....but we're not floating." + Ambarussa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that's they're old enough to drink, Tyelkormo decides to share ten thousand year old wine with Ambarussa.

"Don't tell atar that I let you drink that crap." The campfire flickers and casts a shadow across Tyelkormo's features. 

"We are not Makalaurë. We can keep a secret." Amras is quick to respond, smiling to himself as he leans against his brother. Amrod giggles in return. Atarincë rolls his eyes and smiles.

"How do you feel?" 

"Floaty." Amrod looks at his twin with a humorous expression before whispering "but we're not floating." Ambarussa break into a fit of giggles.

"You two are just a bunch of lightweights." 

"Well you usually don't give new drinkers ten thousand year old wine Tyelkormo." Aredhel rolls her eyes and takes another swig from her glass.

"Yeah, but it's funnier."

**Author's Note:**

> These drafts are unedited and meant to be writing exercises, please forgive any errors.


End file.
